Iggy awoke to an unpleasant alarm coupled with a robotic voice alerting them that it was time for breakfast. He hoped the food in the arena was better than The Chyron, but he wasn't holding his breath.

After rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he spotted the plastic-wrapped pack placed at the foot of his bed. He examined the contents through the transparent material before tearing it open. They'd given him—along with everyone else—a new uniform to wear. Instead of the navy blue prison jumpsuits from before, he'd been given one pair of pants, a pair of athletic shorts, two shirts­ (one gold and one black), and shoes that fit him perfectly. They weren't exactly his style, but they beat the baggy jumpsuit he'd been wearing.

He found the bathroom built into the room he shared with the other tributes. Rows of claustrophobia-inducing shower stalls made up one wall while urinals and stalls made up the other. His nose scrunched as the abrasive smell of chemical cleaner hit his nostrils. With his clothes in hand, he moved into a shower stall and washed yesterday away.

He'd almost forgotten what hot water felt like against his grime-covered skin.

The Chyron wasn't exactly the benchmark for cleanliness, and the showers there only sputtered out freezing cold water that'd make the oceans of Icygik jealous. While his current living quarters weren't much of a step up, he appreciated the additional perks.

After his shower, he met up with Tenn at the front of the room. The man opted to wear the pants and black, long-sleeved shirt given to him while Iggy went for the shorts and gold shirt. Around them, the other tributes began to form a line near the doors as instructed by the voice blaring through the speaker overhead.

"How'd you sleep?" Iggy asked as he and his Andradan companion shuffled toward the line.

He rubbed his lower back. "Those cots are pretty terrible."

"Better than the ship, though."

"That's not saying much."

An Elysian guard arrived at the door and instructed them to head out. Once outside, they joined up with the other tributes before walking down the hall and into another, much larger room.

Half of it was dedicated to some sort of training area—fitted with weight stations, locked racks full of weapons, and mats designed for sparring. The other half was covered in screens; they all displayed the faces of the tributes present, along with the results of their evaluations. As everyone's names appeared on the screens, a color highlighted their names.

Iggy's blood ran cold once his own showed up.

A red glow surrounded his name. Tenn's was a dull yellow.

The pair glanced at each other simultaneously.

Across the room, Iggy spotted Vonn and his crew. The man slid his index finger across his throat—the message every bit as subtle and clever as he was. Shuddering, Iggy turned just in time to see the quartet of Elysian guards marched into the room. They split apart in perfect sync before moving into their own corner of the room, revealing the purple-haired man from yesterday who'd been hiding among them. Moxi Daystar, the arena's host, wore a massive grin that matched the huge suit draping off his small body. A party of Slavs—all dressed in pressed, white uniforms bearing the symbol of the empire on their backs—entered the room shortly after.

"Good morning, glorious contestants!" he chirped. Iggy rolled his eyes. "Today, we'll be explaining how this year's games are to work. On the screens behind me, you'll see the results of your evaluations and what round you'll be making your debuts." He gestured at the bright displays at his back. "Green is for you potential superstars out there. You're third-rounders. Yellow is for the second round." His tone darkened. "And red is for first-rounders."

Iggy's mouth dried up like the sand pits in Novr. It took all his strength to remain upright. He remembered what Vonn told him about what happened to first-rounders in the midst of him getting jumped. In the words of the disgraced Andradan, "they got fucking obliterated". His chances of survival just dropped significantly. He didn't even want to know the real percentage.

"As for the games themselves," Moxi continued, "we've spent countless months working on new, innovative ways to spice up the entertainment for the viewers. Our ratings suggested the competition was getting a bit...stale, so we've added some new challenges and hired a writing team to give the show a bit more drama." A series of groans rippled throughout the crowd.

Show?

"Is this some kind of production or something?" He was half-joking.

Tenn wasn't. "The Empire itself is a production. The emperor is the director. The Noblus families are the producers."

"What does that make us?"

"Extras."

Iggy gulped.

"You mentioned new challenges," a tribute spoke up. "What do you mean by that?"

"While we can't tell you what exactly they are yet," Moxi began, "we can tell you how the format of the games works." He pointed to one of the screens and it pulled up an overhead shot of the arena. The curved, glass dome gave way to the hollowed-out center. A huge concrete platform stood in the middle, separated from the hundreds of rows of seats by a wide moat.

Pictures of previous games took the image's place. Most were standard battles with primitive weapons; that's what Iggy was used to hearing about the Elysian Games. He couldn't fathom what "new challenges" they'd come up with.

"In the past, we've done a simple tournament," Moxi explained. "100 tributes would vie for the title in a hand-to-hand combat trial, occasionally with weapons. But with the help of our new team, courtesy of the Noblus family of Au Grattus, we've developed an array of new games for us to introduce this year.

"The first-rounders will see one of our greatest spectacles yet. The second and third-rounders will be pitted together for the first time ever. Our patrons and those watching across the galaxy will surely be in for a great show. With everything's that been happening in Sector Two*, the galaxy could use a distraction."

Beside him, Tenn bristled at the man's choice of words.

Iggy had focused on his comment about the capital. He meekly raised a hand. Moxi arched a brow at him. "Er, what's been happening in Sector Two*?"

The purple-haired host blanched. Faking a smile, he shook his head. "Did I say something's been happening? Ah, I must've been babbling again. That tends to happen." He clapped his hands. "Anyways! Onto the next part of my presentation!"

Iggy pursed his lips. It was one thing to dance around a question, but Moxi dodged it entirely.

Moxi shuffled around the gathered group of tributes. He gestured at the other side of the room. "Here is where you'll be able to train in preparation for your debuts, should you desire to. We've got GravityWalkers, weightlifting stations, non-lethal weapons, and combat droids for you to practice with."

A few tributes nodded, their eyes lighting up with opportunity. Most, specifically his fellow first-rounders, looked as if they couldn't be bothered to even entertain the idea of training. Iggy didn't exactly blame them. Most of them wouldn't make it past that first round. Their time could be better spent wallowing in their own self-pity as they counted down their last days.

Not Iggy, though.

He'd utilize that training center until they kicked him out. He was making it out of that first round.

"Alright! I'm scheduled to have breakfast with my team of gamemakers, so I'll leave you with your caretakers," Moxi said. "The games start in exactly seven days, so make sure you're prepared. We want to give the people something to cheer about." With that charming remark, he turned on his platformed heel and strutted out of the room.

After a while, Iggy turned to Tenn. "I'm in the first round." The statement echoed in his ears like a heavy sentence from a harsh judge.

"Yes."

"How do I win?"

"What're you asking me for? I don't even know what the first game is."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had he been placed in the first round? Was it random, or did his evaluation have something to do with it? Frowning, he glanced at his ankle, which was mostly healed—but not fully. He'd be willing to bet every credit in his bank account on the latter. His eyes scanned the screens again, taking note of everyone else forced to participate in the preliminary round of the games.

Apart from Vonn, everyone else possessed some kind of handicap—whether it be age, illness, or some predisposed discrimination against their species. He knew the empire had its biases, and this was the perfect place for them to make themselves known. Those more likely to be great fighters were placed in the second and third rounds.

Iggy would've thought Tenn would be placed with him, considering his age, but the Andradan clearly was a warrior. Whatever his evaluation said made enough of a case for him to avoid the first round.

Panic spiked through him.

He didn't know if he could make it through without Tenn's help and guidance. Once he stepped out into the arena for the first time, he'd be alone. Every tribute would be doing the same thing as him—fighting for their survival. Tenn's advice from before rang true in his ears.

No one would have mercy for him, so he couldn't have any for them.

He glanced at the training equipment. Vonn, his crew, and some others already took it upon themselves to assert their dominance over the area. Scowling, he told himself he'd make his way over there eventually. If he even wanted a shot at surviving, he'd have to put some work in.

For now, Iggy needed breakfast.

#

At breakfast, Tenn gifted Iggy with another vital piece of advice.

In order to survive, he needed to gain the upper hand over his competitors.

But how was he supposed to get any sort of advantage when no one knew what any of the games were? He suggested bribing a worker for information, but then remembered he had nothing to bribe them with. His bank balance would make any Elysian laugh, and there was no way in hell he'd give up his father's amulet. He mentally crossed that avenue off his list.

His next idea involved convincing a few other first-rounders to create an alliance. It seemed like a brilliant idea—at least, it did until Tenn shot it down like a rogue ship flying into Elysian-owned airspace. The old man quickly made him aware of the fact that any one of his would-be conspirators could—and probably would—the first chance they got. With that pessimistic thought fresh in his mind, he discarded the notion.

The only viable option he had was to simply build up his strength and stamina in the remaining days until the games started. So, that's what he spent the next six days doing.

Vonn and his crew tended to work out right before breakfast. The training center found itself devoid of any tributes after dinner, giving Iggy and Tenn the green light to get their work done for two hours before they were scheduled to be in their rooms.

Iggy's training for the games had begun back on the ship, but the training center introduced a whole new dynamic to his routine. With the help of Tenn and the combat droids, he'd picked up a few sword-fighting skills along with some moves that'd help him in a hand-to-hand fight. He'd even gotten a brace for his ankle. Sure, it limited his mobility, but it also kept the area stable.

He was far from being the warriors Tenn and Vonn were, but he was on the right track. At least he had the edge over the other first-rounders. They didn't get within fifty feet of the training center, opting to congregate around the cafeteria and the sleeping quarters. They sulked about like zombies with sullen faces and dead eyes. The way their shoulders slumped and their feet dragged along the floors, which were polished daily by robots Iggy thought looked like squids, suggest they'd already accepted their fates.

Iggy refused to be like them.

They refused to fight, giving up before the games even started. He didn't know what they did to end up here, or if they had anyone waiting for them back home, but he did. His mother needed him back on Novr. Without the credits he got from working in the salt mines, she wouldn't survive. She'd eventually succumb to her illness. Iggy couldn't let that happen.

At night when his body ached from the day's training session, he clung to the memory of her smiling face. It was a rare sight these days, but he remembered a time when her sweet smile used to seem like it was permanent. Her laughter, usually caused by a corny joke told by his father, used to seem like music.

When his legs burned while running on the GravityWalker or his body ached after his sparring sessions, he thought of her. When he wanted to quit while Tenn yelled at him for being a weakling, he thought of her. It'd all be worth it in the end if he could make it out of that arena. It'd all be worth it if he could make it back to her.

That was a huge if, though.

With every passing day, his anxiety increased, like a slow drip of medicine being administered right to his veins. The lack of information on the games didn't help. He didn't know what to expect. Would it be a fight? Would he have to complete some sort of puzzle or test?

There was no way to tell.

In a few hours, he'd be making his debut in that wretched arena. One more sleep until he stepped out into the stadium where he'd be forced to compete for his life while millions of eyes watched him. He could already hear the deafening noise pouring from the crowd. It kept him up well into the night. No matter how hard he pressed his pillow against his ears, he couldn't get the sound to leave his ears.

Gritting his teeth, he sat up on his cot and took a look around the dark room.

Snores filled the air as everyone slept. Even Tenn was sound asleep next to him. Sighing, he laid back down and tried to join them. But after thirty more minutes of tossing and turning, he gave up. Clearly, this wasn't working.

He carefully and quietly climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the front door. It wasn't locked. Was it always left unlocked? Not once had he thought to explore outside the room after the lights went off. Then again, he valued living. The Elysian guards who patrolled the corridors at all times likely wouldn't be happy to see him exiting the room when he should've been sleeping. He tugged on the doorhandle. A sliver of light from the bright hallway snuck into the room as he gradually pulled on it. Eyes widening, he closed the door. He glanced behind himself and released a shaky breath. Luckily, no one stirred in their sleep.

He arched an eyebrow at the door.

Tenn told him to get the upper-hand. There had to be a clue about tomorrow's first game somewhere in the arena. He just had to find it.

Taking one last glance behind him, he nodded—his mind made up—and exited the room, making as little noise as possible.

#

Iggy was lost.

The halls of the arena's underbelly were a labyrinth—and he never liked mazes. The guards' patrols grew sparser as the night drew on, meaning Iggy could creep down the corridors with little to no interruption. Though, he stayed sure to remain in the safety of the shadows creeping along the edges of the walls in case any hidden cameras were trained on him. Whenever he heard the sound of footsteps, whether they belonged to a guard or a Hand, he hid behind whatever he could—whether it be a trash bin, random storage crate, or even a decommissioned robot left to collect dust and cobwebs in the hallway.

As he hid behind one of the aforementioned robots, he caught wind of the conversation two of the guards had as they passed by.

"—should be amazing," the one on the right said.

The other adjusted their grip on their rifle. "You hear what the first game might be?"

"Nah, have you?"

The guard stopped. They looked up and down the hall before leaning in close to their comrade. "You didn't hear this from me, but it's gonna be a race."

"A race? How exactly does that fit the mold of a gladiator game?"

"Beats me, but I can't wait to watch. I'm putting money on it this time."

"Yeah, okay."

Iggy blinked. He went cold behind his hiding spot, his mind buzzing like the fluorescent lightbulbs in the recess fixtures built into the low ceiling.

Was this gossip or did this guard actually have inside information on the games? His gut leaned toward the latter. After all, they worked in the arena. The information, while supposedly secret, couldn't stay that way forever. People talked and word got around. It wasn't farfetched for the guard to have heard some things.

The guards continued down the hall, their voices fading into silence the farther they got from him. Swallowing hard, Iggy decided he'd done enough exploring. He'd been gone for about an hour, and he didn't need anyone noticing he'd left. With morning only a few hours away, he could still get a decent enough rest before facing the hardest day of his short, unfortunate life.

Once the coast was clear, he darted into the hall and back to the sleeping hall, repeatedly checking over his shoulder. He'd been looking back so much that he didn't see the Hand walking toward him. They collided like asteroids in space. Iggy hit the ground rear first while the servant before him simply stumbled backward.

Face reddening, he jumped to his feet. The Hand stared at him, their face twisted in annoyance.

Wait a minute...

The person standing in front of him wasn't a Hand at all. Their eyes were sky blue and not the kind that glowed in the dark. His skin was the color of warm syrup. He had black hair buzzed atop his head and a jawline that could cut through titanium beams. His face looked like it could've been constructed by an engineer, but Iggy knew blood ran through those veins instead of the blue fluids androids possessed.

The stranger might've worn the white uniform of the Slavs who worked around the arena, but he was far too pretty to be a Slav.

"You alright, kid?" he asked hurriedly.

"Er, yeah."

Definitely not a Slav. He wasn't a Hand either. Iggy should've known. He was one.

The stranger's slick accent resembled Tenn's. Maybe he hailed from Galenrad too. Or perhaps he was just Andradan. The race populated a number of planets throughout the galaxy and shared a common ancestor with the Elysians.

"What're you starin' at me for then?" The man squinted at the green-eyed Arigoriian. "You hit your head or something?"

"N-No, it's just..." He suddenly realized this man didn't work here at all. Arching an eyebrow, he tilted his head at him. "Who are you?"

"Don't worry about it, kid."

"Kid? You don't look that much older than me."

"Yeah, well, I ain't a kid."

"Neither am I."

"Could've fooled me."

The pair glared at each other. Down the hall, Iggy heard footsteps. They both tensed at the noise.

"Look, I gotta go," the stranger hissed. "Next time, watch your step."

Without another word, the stranger headed down another corridor in the opposite direction with his head down and hands hidden in his deep pockets. The Arigoriian boy cursed under his breath before sprinting toward the sleeping hall, desperately trying to evade the guards approaching. The entire way back, Iggy couldn't stop thinking about his interaction with the blue-eyed stranger. Who was that person, and why was he sneaking about the arena's corridors?

One thing was certain, though: he didn't belong.